


Mating Season

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta/Omega, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Verse, Orgy, Post Mpreg, Rimming, everyone bangs everyone else, now introducing Gallireibert, you read it here first friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 23:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: It's mating season, and sex is in the air.





	1. Wait for the Right Scent to Hit You

**Author's Note:**

> TW: past mpreg, and heavily implied future mpreg.

It’s mating season, and sex is in the air.

Jean strides down the street, his pace brisk, his senses aflame. Everything is distracting, everything is too bright and too vibrant and too pungent, but he moves with purpose, with determination. He has a clear destination in mind, a clear intent, and that makes it easier to avoid all the countless distractions that assault him.

During the last mating season, he’d been too young, hardly come into his Alphahood, and his mother had kept him home. It shames Jean now, remembering the horrible fights they’d gotten into over that decision, but now he understands. Now he’s old enough, and now he’s ready. He’s twenty-one years old, healthy and robust and dripping with pheromones and Alpha arrogance, and he’s ready. He’s ready to dive straight in.

He arrives early to the community center, the large building that is used for adult education classes and basketball games and potlucks during the years between mating seasons. It looks and feels completely different now: the overhead lights are turned off, replaced by flashing strobe lights and mirrorballs; heavy drapes cover the classroom windows, offering privacy from prying eyes; the scent billowing from the building is not pencil shavings and printed paper but lust and eagerness and anticipation. The scent of sweat is still there, but it’s not the clean, honest sweat of a hard workout; it’s the heavy, heady odor of people in heat, of bodies raring and eager to go, and it’s almost enough to stop Jean in his tracks.

Jean is early, but he’s far from the first one here; the doorway to the center is swarming with other Alphas, milling around and posturing, checking each other out and sizing up their competition. Jean glances down at his outfit—a shirt unbuttoned down past his sternum, pants tight enough to advertise exactly what he has to offer—and it fits with what the other Alphas are wearing. He’ll never be one of the enormous, musclebound Alphas—some of them are already here, strutting and preening, showing off their heavy, bulging muscles to other, younger Alphas—but that’s okay. Mating season is more about scent than appearance, or so he’s been told, and he looks pretty damn good as it is. He looks lithe and fast, competent and sleek, and that’s good enough for him.

He pushes himself through the throng, jostling and showing his teeth to other Alphas, until he’s in the building. Jean makes his way to the gymnasium, eyeing the classrooms he passes with interest, knowing that soon enough they’ll be being used for things that would make the teachers who normally inhabit them blush. A few Alphas have already staked a claim, setting themselves up outside the classroom doorways, lifting their upper lips at him as he passes. Jean lifts a brow at them haughtily and keeps going, ignoring their challenges. There’s no point in staking out territory if you don’t already have a mate in mind, and all the Omegas come in through a different door.

Jean enters the gym, and he catches the scent of them immediately, thick and cloying. The Omegas have already been ushered in, are lingering shyly in one corner of the gym, their heads lifting expectantly when Jean walks through the door. The overhead lights are low enough, the strobe lights distracting enough, that Jean can’t pick out individual Omegas, but he can smell them: a thousand separate scents, each tantalizing, each filling his sinuses, and he pauses to take a deep breath, trying to savor all of them at once. It’s an impossible task, an impossible ask, but Jean wants to mate with all of them, wants to have all of them here and now, and he whines softly, under his breath.

He’s already rock hard and ready to go, his knots pulsing at the base of his cock.

Few of the Omegas across the room are female; it’s tradition to keep the genders separated on the first days of mating season, when things are heady and wild and prone to going out of control. It used to be rigidly enforced, but restrictions have relaxed in recent years, though few Dynamics take advantage of it. Jean doesn’t mind. He’s always preferred other males anyway, preferred their bite and hard edges to the soft, rounded curves of females, preferred their acidic, sharp scents to a more feminine musk.

Jean lifts his head, scenting the air more carefully this time. He’s been told, by his mother and by other Dynamics, that when he smells his mate, he’ll _know_. There will be no question, no doubt in his mind, that _this_ is the person for him, the person to bear his pups.

The scents of the Omegas are certainly catching Jean’s attention, raising both his interest and his erection, but nothing like the lightning bolt he’s been told to expect. That’s okay, though… Jean wouldn’t want to mate with the kind of nerd who’s always on time anyway.

Ignoring the fact that he’s here early too, Jean plunges towards the middle of the gym floor, where tentative little knots of people are forming, ready to dance and sweat and smell, and wait for the right scent to hit him.

~*~

Levi is starting to wonder if he should just call this a wash and go home.

If he were here with anyone except Farlan, he would have left a long time ago. But it’s Farlan’s first mating season, and their mother had begged Levi, practically _pleaded_ with him, to take Farlan to the community center and keep an eye on him, and Levi had cracked under the pressure. Like there had ever been any doubt that he would, and they all knew it.   
He lost sight of Farlan a long time ago, lost in the boiling swarm of bodies out on the gymnasium dance floor, but all their mother’s worries about bigger Alphas had proved unfounded; Farlan had fallen in with a group of Alphas he knew from school, and they’ve been circling the gym like a school of fish, occasionally breaking off when one finds an Omega that attracts their attention but otherwise staying together. He’s fine, he’s protected, and there’s no reason for Levi to stay in this stinking gym any longer, surrounded by Dynamic reek.

He rises to his feet, scanning the dance floor one last time for Farlan, and sighing when he doesn’t see him. He should try and find him and tell him he’s leaving, shouldn’t he? But that would involve diving into that writhing mass again, and getting their stink all over him, and he’d really rather not.

But _Farlan_, and Levi rolls his eyes as he prepares to dive into the fracas. The things he does for his brother, dammit.

Levi only manages about ten steps before he’s jostled aside by an enthusiastic, beefy young Alpha, and while he manages to throw an elbow in the kid’s direction, it barely glances off his side. The kid keeps moving forward, clearly enraptured by something Levi can’t smell, and Levi curses at his retreating back.

He’s hit a moment later by another one, and this time, Levi’s bad ankle twists underneath him and he starts to go down. For the first time all night, panic spikes through him; he’s heard stories about people getting trampled at these things, of Alphas completely losing their heads and not even noticing when they’re crushing someone under their feet. He spits curses as he goes down, the gym floor rushing towards him at alarming speed.

It never hits; someone catches his arm, drawing Levi up short, and he scrambles to get his feet back under him. He staggers back upright, and finds himself pressed up against someone’s chest, their arms wrapped protectively around him.  
He shoves outwards against the chest in his face, and its owner lets him go immediately, their arms loosening as their hands land on Levi’s shoulders, keeping him upright.

“Are you all right?” Somehow, even over the blare of the music, Levi hears his voice as clear as day, and for just a second, he catches a hint of his cologne, something woodsy and fresh, cedar and grass and sunshine.

“Fine.” Levi knocks the hands off his shoulders and looks up at the man who caught him.

He’s tall, and broad through the chest, with blond hair that’s just starting to thread silver at the temples. Levi frowns; isn’t this guy too old to be at a mating season round up like this? Guys this age are usually comfortably mated, raising their broods and enjoying mating season from the comfort of their homes. 

The man smiles tentatively at Levi, and it’s a good smile, a kind one, and Levi fights against the impulse to smile back. What is _wrong_ with him? This piece of shit almost knocks him to the floor and now he wants to _smile_ at him? 

Levi opens his mouth—to say what, he doesn’t know—but then someone hits him _again_, another bony Alpha elbow right between his shoulder blades, and his ankle, already outraged, twists again, spilling him forward.

The blond man is fast; he swoops down, catching Levi and drawing him in against his chest again, simultaneously turning his back towards the mosh pit the center of the room is becoming. Levi’s breath catches in his throat as his back hits the wall, and his entire field of vision is blocked by the big man’s chest, an expanse of pale blue shirt, that flash of outdoorsy scent again. He gets the insane, unthinkable impulse to just bury his face in the man’s chest and breathe deep, to burrow down in his arms, in safety, and let his anxieties and worries melt away.

Instead, Levi pushes the man backwards, feeling one brief beat of his heart against the palm of his hand.

The man steps back, but he still looms large in front of Levi, his meticulously groomed eyebrows slightly lifted, his expression benign and non-threatening, and Levi swallows around a dry throat.

“I’m Levi.” Of all the things he expected to say, this is the last thing Levi thought would come out.

The man smiles again, that warm, sweet smile, and offers Levi his hand. “I’m Erwin. Do you want to go get a drink somewhere?”

Levi takes Erwin’s hand and shakes it, his fingers swallowed in Erwin’s grip, and nods. “Yeah. Let’s get away from this shitshow.”

~*~

Porco is drenched in sweat, his tank top clinging to him like a second skin, and feeling fine.

It’s his second mating season, and this time, he’s come in with high hopes and low expectations. If he finds someone, then terrific! Great! If he doesn’t, he won’t be heartbroken; Marcel is happily mated, his partner expecting their first pup any day now, and the pressure is off Porco. Their parents have a grandchild on the way and Porco is free to enjoy his casual, semi-slutty lifestyle for a bit longer. He doesn’t have any trouble getting laid normally, and he’s not entirely sure he’s ready for a mate and pups anyway. If he catches a scent this mating season, then that’s fine; if he doesn’t, then there will be another one in four or five years, and he’ll find someone then.

There’s no rush. He has plenty of time.

For now, he’s just enjoying the mating season ritual. The community center gathering has been going on for several hours now, and while pairs keep finding each other and splitting off, the size of the main group stays the same as more people pour in. Porco has been in the center of the group for about forty five minutes now, dancing with wild abandon, embracing all the scents and chaos swirling around him. It’s freeing, it’s instinctual, it’s better than he remembers from last time, when he snuck out with Marcel and attended as a sixteen year old.

It’s also exhausting, and with how he’s been sweating in the mad crush of bodies, Porco’s throat is dry as a bone. He starts shifting away, moving towards the edge of the hoard, towards the water stations he knows are set up there.

He breaks away from the main group and saunters towards a water station, putting a little strut in his stride in case anyone is looking. The station is manned by a bored looking beta, older and clearly out of the game for a long time, and she hands him a water bottle. Porco spins the cap off and tilts his head back, drinking deep, knowing how this angle exposes the long, clean lines of his throat, the subtle bulge of his scent glands under his jaw.

“Excuse me.”

Porco feels the sudden presence of someone stepping up next to him, but he can’t smell another Alpha, so he takes his time, keeps drinking, finishes the bottle of water, before turning and sizing them up.

To his surprise, it’s not one, but two men standing next to him. The one who spoke is big and blond, heavy with muscle, massive through the chest and arms. Porco takes another breath through his nose, quick and searching, but he can’t get an Alpha scent. An exceptionally large beta? Maybe. Another man is standing slightly behind him, tall and dark, his eyes dark and shadowed as he examines Porco.

The muscular guy clears his throat, and his face contorts, twisting around his mouth, and Porco realizes that he’s trying to smile and almost succeeding. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

Porco sets the bottle down, letting the bored beta whisk it away, and leans back against the table, throwing back his shoulders to expose his chest, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle to make the muscles in his thighs stand out. The taller man’s eyes widen a little, and Porco catches a flash of green in the dim lighting. “You sure talking is all that’s on your minds?”

He’s teasing, not serious, but the muscular man bristles as the tall man flushes and looks away, and suddenly Porco is interested. He straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and jerks his head behind him. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

The muscular guy crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms bulging, and Porco tenses, readying himself for a fight. Then the tall guy nudges the blond one and ducks low, whispering something to him that Porco can’t hear, and the blond guy relaxes. He still doesn’t look happy, but he’s not ready to throw a punch anymore either, and Porco will take what he can get. His parents and Marcel would be furious if he came back from this with a black eye.

Porco plucks his shirt off his chest, where it had been stuck there with sweat, and walks away, out of the gymnasium. If the other two follow, then great; if not, he’ll use the toilet and then go back for more dancing.

A beat, two, and then Porco feels the vibrations of their footfalls behind him, and he squares his shoulders and struts into the hallway.

He leads them to a corner, quiet and shadowed, away from the thundering beat of the music, before swiveling on his heel to face them.

“Well?”

The blond guy is still out in front, his face still scrunched into a sour expression, his arms still tight across his chest. The dark-haired one lays a hand on the blond’s shoulder, and even that simple touch is a caress, enough to start to melt his partner’s iciness. Then the dark-haired guy clears his throat, and his voice is low and melodious, like honey in Porco’s ears.

“I’m Bertolt, and this is Reiner. We’re mates, and…” He trails off, and his partner—Reiner—picks up where he left off.

“And we want to have a pup this mating season.”

Porco waits, but neither one of them continues; they’re both looking down, Bertolt’s head drifting closer to Reiner’s shoulder, Reiner reaching up to clasp Bertolt’s hand. What does this have to do with him? Why are they telling a complete stranger about their plans for starting a family?

Then Reiner squeezes Bertolt’s hand, sending up a puff of both their scents, and Porco startles. He tilts his head back, drawing in a deep breath and getting a scent on both of them, and suddenly he gets it. Suddenly he understands.


	2. Why Are You Wearing That?

Jean’s shirt hangs open to his waist now, his entire torso on display in a long, plunging V-shape. Its sleeves cling to his body, wet with his own sweat and the sweat of everyone he’s danced with tonight. His pants cling to him like a second skin, and while he’s not erect anymore—no one can maintain one for longer than an hour or so, not even the fittest, most prime Alphas—they’re definitely still advertising what he has to offer. His hair hangs around his face in damp clumps, and when he tosses his head, he sends droplets of moisture glittering into the air, spraying his scent far and wide across the dance floor.

He’s been dancing for hours, his feet and calves starting to ache, his throat dry and his body drenched in sweat, and he still hasn’t caught the right scent.

He’s smelled Omegas that caught his interest, that caught his eye—he even spent a very pleasurable thirty minutes grinding with one in a corner, their hands all over each other, the Omega’s tongue deep in his mouth. Jean had thought they were almost ready to seal the deal, but then the Omega had caught a scent, something Jean couldn’t smell, his head shooting up like a wild deer, and he’d unceremoniously dashed away, leaving Jean behind with clasping hands and a worthless erection.

Jean begrudges the Omega nothing, though. Instincts like that, you can’t fight against. It must really be true that when you catch a scent, you know, you just _know_, and that Omega clearly caught a scent. 

So back he’d gone, onto the dance floor, moving and jostling and scenting all around, but still nothing. The night is wearing on, the crowd on the dance floor getting smaller, and still nothing.

Maybe this isn’t his year. Maybe he’ll have to wait until the next mating season to find his mate, and while Jean knows he has to quietly accept that as a possibility, it still makes his chest hurt. He’s getting older, he’s getting lonely, and he would really, really like this to have been his season.

The music is starting to slow down, gradually dropping to a low, sensual beat, and Jean is almost ready to call it quits and go home when it happens.

It happens so suddenly, and with such immense power, that he can’t even imagine mistaking it for anything else. Jean goes stock-still on the dance floor, a man turned to marble, his head high in the air, the only movement his flaring nostrils as he tries to take in that scent again. A quick inhale, a taste in the back of his throat, and Jean shudders all over, the spell broken and enhanced at the same time: _that_. That is the scent, the one he’s been waiting for, the one he’s been wanting, been _needing_, for his whole life, and Jean turns in a circle, desperate to get a bead on it.

It’s faint, faint but getting stronger, and Jean forces his feet to move, forces them to follow it, to get closer to that aroma, that scent of snow melting away, of the world waking up, of flowers pushing their way towards the sun. Every breath he takes draws it deeper into his sinuses, fills his head more until it feels like it’s going to explode, and Jean is nearly blind with desire, with a bone-deep longing he’s never felt before, when he finally pushes past a dancing couple and lays eyes on the source of the scent.

He has his back to Jean, watching something taking place far away—what, Jean neither knows nor cares to find out—and Jean stumbles forward, his hands reaching out towards him. He’s wearing a simple, white shirt, still clean and unstained from dancing, the shirt of someone who just arrived, and black pants, just tight enough to emphasize the slight curve of his hips, the gentle rounding slope of his ass. He’s tall, and broad through the shoulders, taller and wider than Jean, a big Omega, a surprisingly big Omega, and Jean can’t speak. He hasn’t even seen his face, hasn’t heard his voice, and he knows he loves him. He loves him, and he’d do anything to be with him, to be close to that scent, for the rest of his life.

As Jean approaches, he starts to turn his head, his dark hair shining under the reflections thrown by the mirrorballs, and Jean only sees the curve of one cheekbone before he’s behind him, his arms wrapping around his waist—a solid waist, narrow and trim but solid, the perfect size for Jean’s arms—and burying his face against the side of his neck.

The man gasps, his hands fluttering around Jean’s forearms like startled birds, and then he goes still. Jean feels him take a deep breath, his back rising against Jean’s chest, and then the man melts backwards, his arms, his warm, well-muscled arms, gliding over the top of Jean’s to grasp both his hands, and the man presses back into him. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces, and the man turns his head, his nose whispering through Jean’s hair, the sides of his lips touching Jean’s forehead, and they start to sway together.

The music fades into an indistinct mumbling; the scent of everyone around them bleeds away. All Jean can smell is the man in his arms, all he can hear is the soft strum of the man’s heartbeat, the faint rush of blood through the veins of his neck. All he can feel is how, until now, he was only half, and now he’s finally whole.

The man shifts in his arms, turning to half face Jean, and his breath whispers across Jean’s forehead, ruffling his damp hair. “Hi,” he says, and his voice is higher than Jean would have imagined, with the faintest Southern lilt to it, as musical as a bird trilling its greetings to the rising sun.

“Hi.” Jean’s voice is froggy, weak with desire, and he lifts his head to mouth at the underside of the man’s jaw, making him suck in a breath and then let it out in a soft moan. “Where were you?”

He means _where were you before, for the entire part of my life that is now The Before_, but the man laughs, breathless and stuttering, and pulls Jean’s arms tighter around his waist. “Traffic.”

Jean laughs with him at that, the sound muffled against the man’s neck, and he gently pushes his hips forward. He’s hard again, harder than he’s ever been in his life, aching and ready to go, and his cock fits perfectly between the man’s ass cheeks, cradled in their heat and firm flesh, and when the man pushes his hips back, Jean’s vision explodes into stars. The impulse to rut against him like an animal is almost insurmountable, and Jean whines under his breath.

“Do you, uh… want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes.” The man answers almost before Jean is finished asking, and a thrill runs through Jean’s spine, sending all the flesh on his back up into goosebumps. Without letting go, Jean starts awkwardly shuffling backwards, moving slowly and without much sense of where he is, and while it would be easier to turn around and walk normally, an ancient sense insists that he needs to keep hold of this man, needs to hold onto his Omega, his mate, until they’re somewhere safe and protected. 

Fortunately, the other man makes no attempt to get out of Jean’s embrace or let go himself, and they eventually, through more dumb luck than skill, make their way to one of the converted classrooms.

The classroom has been hastily set up with mating pairs in mind, the lighting low, the desks and chairs exchanged for pillows and mattresses, a cache of bottled water and snacks set in a basket at the front of the room. Jean kicks the door closed once they’re inside, hearing it latch and lock behind him, and they stand for a moment, still caught in each other’s arms, and it all settles in. This is it. This is his mate. This is the person he’s been waiting for, the one intended for him, the one planned for him by some force greater than themselves. The forces at play are almost too much to comprehend, and when the man moves, pulling away, Jean loosens his arms.

The man doesn’t go far, only enough to turn around and face Jean, and Jean gets a look at his face for the first time. A spray of freckles across his cheeks and nose, wide, sweet eyes the color of fine chocolate, a smile that lights up the dim room as he does the same, drinking in Jean’s face, memorizing it. The man lifts a hand and touches Jean’s cheek, and Jean leans into the caress.

“Hi,” he whispers. “I’m Jean.”

“Hi, Jean,” the man whispers back, Jean’s name musical on his tongue, “I’m Marco.”

~*~

As it turns out, Erwin isn’t drinking tonight, and Levi side-eyes his glass of fizzy soda while he orders a whiskey sour. The bar room is deserted, save for them and the elderly, bored beta watching the bar, but Levi doesn’t protest as Erwin drifts towards a table in the back of the room. He’s just glad to be away from the mad crush of bodies and the reek of their sweat and hormones. The bar smells comfortingly of alcohol and soap, and Levi wrinkles his nose when he catches another whiff of Erwin’s earthy cologne. Has he been bathing in the damn stuff?

Levi waits for Erwin to start talking once they’re seated, but Erwin seems content to simply sit and sip at his drink. The silence stretches and grows, and Levi starts to fidget.

“So aren’t you too old to be at one of these things?”

Erwin blinks, and Levi squares his jaw, expecting and almost anticipating a rebuke—it would, at least, be something to talk about—but then Erwin laughs, deep and bold and throaty. “I could say the same about you.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Levi answers stiffly, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. He _hates_ being taken for younger than he really is, a chronic problem with his unimpressive height. 

“And I’m thirty-two.” Erwin smiles over the rim of his glass. “Not too much older than you are.”

There isn’t a good response to that, and Levi switches tactics. “If you’re thirty-two, why’d you come on the first day? It’s always a meat market on the first day.”

Older Dynamics do come to the mating season festivities, or so Levi has been told, but they usually forgo the first day and leave it to the young, to those who’ve never had a mate before. An older Dynamic is usually there because they’ve lost a mate, and they have the sense to stay away from the early days, when their presence just makes everyone sad.

They also don’t stand a chance against the young and athletic new Dynamics in their first mating season. Who would want someone old and used when you can have your choice of so many young, supple bodies?

“Why am I here, depressing everyone?” Erwin has seen right through Levi’s question, one eyebrow raised sardonically, and Levi has the social graces to be embarrassed and look away. Erwin lets the moment draw out a little, taking a sip of soda, before answering. “Would you believe I’ve never had a mate?”

That catches Levi’s attention, and his head jerks back towards Erwin; he had assumed Erwin was a Dynamic of some kind, probably an Omega, but now he has confirmation, and…

“What? _You_?” Are the other Dynamics out there _blind_? How on earth has Erwin managed to survive to thirty-two without finding a mate? He’s handsome now; Levi can only imagine what a figure he must have cut when he was younger.

Erwin’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Me.” He drains his glass, then signals to the bartender for another one. “I have a son, but I’ve never mated.”

“Did you bring your kid here?” Fucking gross.

Erwin makes a face and shakes his head. “No. He’s only fifteen, and not terribly interested in mating season yet.”

Levi does the math in his head. “You had him young.”

“I did.” Erwin takes the new soda the bartender has brought over with a murmur of thanks, then leans back in his chair. “I was young, and foolish, and thought you couldn’t get pregnant outside of mating season.” His eyes crinkle at the corners again. “As it turns out, I was incorrect.”

“Oh.” Levi has heard about that happening before, and he shifts in his chair before taking a long pull of his drink. 

“He’s a good kid.” Erwin’s voice is quiet, musing, almost talking to himself. “He likes science, just like his mother. They’re working on rockets right now, but it was levers and pulleys before, and biomes before that.”

“Does he live with his mother?”

That question surprises Erwin out of his quiet revery. “Oh, no, he lives with me.” Another quiet chuckle. “His mother is a wonderful woman, but she was never much for parenthood.”

“My dad was like that.” Erwin looks up expectantly, and Levi curses under his breath. Why did he bring up _that_ piece of shit? But not Erwin is expecting an answer, and Levi crosses his arms over his chest as he spits one out. “Left when my brother and I were really young. My mom raised us on her own. My uncle helped. Sometimes.”

Erwin is quiet in the face of that onslaught, and Levi turns his head away. Why would he bring this up? These are things he hasn’t thought about in years, things he’s actively avoided working over. There’s never been _time_ for any of this, between helping his mom out, between dragging Farlan along with him, between working with or against his uncle, depending on Kenny’s capricious moods. And there isn’t time now, in the middle of mating season, in the middle of a cattle call, to get all sniveling over his father. It’s _weak_, pure weakness, and Levi has never been weak.

Something touches his hand, and rather than yank it away, Levi glances back over at Erwin. He’s reached out across the table, his fingertips touching the back of Levi’s hand, and the movement must have stirred up his cologne again, because Levi gets hit with another waft of it.

“I’m sorry.”

Levi feels his mouth fall open, but no words come out. What is he even supposed to say to that? What is he supposed to do, when Erwin is looking at him with those big, genuine blue eyes, and Levi can see himself reflected in them, framed by Erwin’s silvery blond lashes, and he looks small and lost and alone, drowning in the endless blue? 

The door behind them bangs open, Levi jumps and jerks his hand away, and the moment is broken. He swivels in his chair, and watches as a red-headed young Alpha comes swaggering in—he can _only_ be an Alpha, with that walk and that outfit—followed by a more sedate couple. One of them, a big burly blond guy, shoots Levi a dirty look before following the redhead to the bar along with his companion, and Levi turns back to Erwin.

Erwin is watching them too, and he looks amused. He leans in, his voice dropping low so Levi has to lean in too. “The blond one isn’t having a good day.”

“How do you know?” Like Levi cares, but he speaks softly too.

Erwin glances up at them, then back at Levi. He leans in closer, almost within kissing distance, and Levi doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t know why, but he has no desire to pull back. “I can smell it. He’s a beta; the other two are Dynamics.”

Levi nods, the motion making some of his hair fall forward, and when he sees it ruffle with Erwin’s breath, he snaps back into himself. He slams backwards into his chair, his heartbeat racing in his throat, and Erwin blinks in surprise before slowly settling back himself. When he moves, the scent of his cologne lingers before drifting away, and Levi knows he should be happy that it’s gone, but he’s not.

He wants Erwin back close to him; he wants Erwin a million miles away. He wants to see Erwin everyday for the rest of his life; he never wants to see Erwin again. He _wants_, and Levi has lived his life trying his hardest to never want _anything_, and the scent of Erwin’s cologne in the back of his throat and the still burning heat of his fingers on the back of his hand are more than Levi can stand.

“Why are you wearing that?” The words come out in a snarl.

Erwin tilts his head. “Wearing what?”

“That cologne!” Levi feels the eyes of the other threesome on him, and he comes very close to turning around and snapping at them. “You _reek_ of it.”

Erwin blinks again, long and slow, and the corners of his mouth start twitching upwards. “Levi…” he reaches for Levi’s hand again, and Levi lets him take it, lets him fold his long fingers around his palm, “I’m not wearing any cologne.”

“So why do you…” Levi trails off; he’s gotten lost in Erwin’s eyes again, sinking into the blue, and he drags Erwin’s hand up to his face, pressing it under his nose and breathing deep. That woodsy, outdoorsy scent rises up again, swirling around him, and if this is what Alphas and Omegas have to deal with every day, then Levi doesn’t know how they survive. How can they live when the world is filled with assaults like this?

“I thought you could,” Erwin says quietly, letting Levi huff at the back of his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I thought you could smell me.”

“_Why_?” The word catches in the back of Levi’s throat, snags on Erwin’s scent, comes out half-strangled. “Why can I… I’m a beta!”

Erwin shrugs with one shoulder, and turns his hand, gently moves it in Levi’s grip so he can cradle Levi’s cheek, his thumb brushing over Levi’s cheekbone before dropping down to linger next to his lips. “I don’t have that answer. But you can, and…”

And what are they going to do with that information? What are they going to do with all the emotions, all the naked desire, swirling in Levi’s chest? He swallows, closes his eyes, and leans his cheek into Erwin’s hand, his lips brushing the ball of his thumb.

~*~

The two other guys in the bar area—both older and of little interest, although the bigger one has a certain daddy air to him—look like they’re getting along pretty well, and Porco is momentarily jealous. Reiner has his arms crossed over his chest, staring intently every time Porco opens his mouth or moves or basically does anything, and Bertolt keeps looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes wide and beseeching, and Porco is almost ready to get up and call this whole thing a bad job.  
He would have gotten up a long time ago, if it weren’t for the faint whiffs he keeps getting of Bertolt’s scent. Bertolt has a voice like honey, and a scent to match; it’s sweet, and rich, and wafts slowly, coming to Porco in gentle waves, then lingering in the back of his throat. It reminds Porco of the last lingering days of summer, just before the leaves start to change and the light grows long and twilight lasts forever.

Reiner doesn’t smell anything like that. His scent is aggressive, forceful, metallic, filled with smoke and heat. For a beta, his scent is surprisingly strong, almost overpowering his Omega mate’s, and Porco still isn’t convinced this is a good idea.

“So why me?” He crosses his own arms, imitating Reiner, pushing on the sides of his biceps to make them bulge out more, squeezing around his pectorals to make them pop. 

A muscle in Reiner’s jaw jumps, but he keeps his voice flat and level when he answers. “We want to start our family and haven’t been able to yet. Not…” he glances at Bertolt, “that we haven’t been trying.”

Bertolt looks down at his lap when Reiner says that, and Reiner’s cheeks blush faintly pink, and Porco is charmed in spite of himself. They’re negotiating Porco fucking Bertolt right now, and these two are getting bashful about discussing their sex life.

“I get that part.” Bertolt looks back up, watching Porco through his eyelashes, and Porco realizes that his lashes are almost long enough to touch his cheekbones. “I want to know why _me_, of all the other Alphas out there. Why not that guy?”

He gestures at the big blond daddy in the back of the room, and Reiner twists in his chair to check him out. He draws a deep breath through his nose before turning back around. “He’s an Omega.”

Porco raises an eyebrow; impressive. He wouldn’t expect most betas to be able to tell that so easily.

“You look like Reiner.” Bertolt’s voice is soft, yet it immediately commands both Porco and Reiner’s attention. Reiner swivels towards him, and Porco leans across the table. 

Reiner scoffs and Porco snorts, almost simultaneously, and their eyes meet in surprise. It’s the first time they’ve made active eye contact, and Porco sees that Reiner’s eyes are an almost golden tawny shade. The corner of Reiner’s mouth twitches, and Porco fights down the urge to smirk at him. 

“A little bit, anyway,” Bertolt concedes, and this time Porco does smile, and Reiner shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’re both pale, and have light hair and eyes. You’re both muscular…”

“I’m bigger,” Reiner interjects, and Porco coughs laughter.

“I bet my cardio is better.” Reiner’s muscles look mostly for show; Porco knows his own are all practical…. _mostly_ practical.

Bertolt rolls his eyes, and then all three of them are laughing, somehow bonded over the sheer improbability of their situation, and Reiner reaches across the table to land a friendly blow on Porco’s shoulder.

“We’ll see about that!”

Porco resists the urge to rub his deltoid; there had been some real power behind that punch, and even pulled back, it stung. He won’t give Reiner the satisfaction of showing it, though. “Okay, so I’m hot. That part is obvious. But…”

“And your smell,” Bertolt interrupts, and Porco’s mouth snaps closed. Bertolt looks directly at him, with his deep, moss-green eyes, eyes like a clearing in the woods just as the sun goes down, and Porco’s stomach does a pleasant little flip-flop. “I can smell you, and…” His voice catches, trembles a little, and Porco reaches for his hand at the same time Reiner does. Their hands end up in a tangled mess on the table, Porco and Reiner’s entwined with Bertolt’s caught in the center. Bertolt lifts his other hand and puts it on top, squeezing all their hands together. 

“You smell right,” Bertolt finishes, and Reiner nods. When he does, his beta scent drifts over to Porco, and for just a split second, the metal bleeds away and is replaced by woodsmoke, comforting and warm and protective.

“Okay.” Porco swallows, and both Reiner and Bertolt look at him expectantly. “Okay, I’ll do it.”


	3. Challenge Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sealing the deal.

Marco’s shirt is held closed by buttons, and Jean has no patience for undoing them. He manages the first two or three, but only because he’s distracted with Marco’s throat under his mouth, the taste of Marco’s sweat and the thrum of his heartbeat against his lips. It’s good, it’s great, it’s bliss, but there’s more, there’s so much more, and Jean wants all of it. Marco’s buttons don’t stand a chance, and go scattering to all corners of the room when Jean reefs on his shirt, ripping it open all the way down to Marco’s waist.

Marco gasps, startled, but almost immediately changes to a deep, rumbling purr as Jean ducks his head down, his lips on Marco’s collarbone, on his sternum, on his nipples. Marco’s freckles go all the way down, scattered like stars across his shoulders and down his chest and abdomen, and Jean wants to taste every single one of them. He wants to memorize the map of Marco’s skin, every pattern and texture of his body, imprint it on his mind so he could find Marco if he were blind, if he were deaf, if he was only a tattered remnant of himself.

Marco threads his hands through Jean’s hair, gripping it tightly enough that it’s just this side of pain, as Jean drops to his knees before him. Belts and zippers are more complicated than buttons, more carefully constructed, and Jean isn’t able to tear through them. Jean whines in frustration in the back of his throat, and Marco chuckles above him, his laughter raining down on Jean like sunshine.

“Let me…” Marco starts to move his hands, and Jean shakes his head, ducking lower under Marco’s hands, nuzzling at the line of hair rising up from Marco’s belt buckle, fumbling with awkward hands to get the leather to slide through the loops. When it falls open, the pants draping down on Marco’s hips, Jean gets a full blast of Marco’s pheromones in the face, and it makes him feel drunk, heady and delighted and wild. He jerks Marco’s pants down, ignoring when they get caught on the meat of his thighs. Marco’s cock is right in his face, and it’s a fine cock indeed, but that’s not what Jean is interested in. It’s not what Marco is interested in either, based on how he’s twitching and fidgeting, trying to turn around between Jean’s hands.

Jean plants a quick kiss on Marco’s hipbone, where it juts out proudly from under his skin, then helps him shuffle around, turning to present his ass.

The freckles go all the way down, disappearing into the drooping legs of Marco’s pants, but Jean isn’t paying attention to them anymore. Marco has a round, plump ass, a very Omega ass, and Jean moans in the back of his throat at the sight of it. Marco hadn’t dressed to show this ass off; he should be wearing skin-tight pants at all times, clothes that really highlight his curves. Jean could look at this ass all day, every day, for the rest of his life, and never get tired of it.

Marco fidgets again, twisting his shoulders around so he can glance over one, looking down at Jean. His eyebrows are drawn up in a bow shape, his lips pursed a bit at the center. “Jean?”

“Sorry.” Jean realizes he’s been staring, and he leans in, pressing his lips to Marco’s smooth skin, lighter here than on his face and arms, almost alabaster. “Sorry, I just… _damn_.”

Marco laughs, breathless and disbelieving. “You like it?”

Jean glances up, his lips still against Marco’s sweet curves, and with a jolt, he recognizes that expression for what it is. Marco is _nervous_, thinking Jean wouldn’t like him? What kind of idiot wouldn’t like, wouldn’t _love_, an ass like this?

“I _love_ it.” Jean shifts his hands from Marco’s hips to underneath his cheeks, getting a good grip on his rear for the first time, and he moans again, completely unprompted and from deep in his soul. “This is the best ass I’ve ever seen.”

Marco laughs again, and it sounds warmer this time, more believing. “Yeah? You’re not kidding with me?”

“Not at all.” Jean props his hands under Marco’s cheeks, lifting them up a little, making them look even rounder, and his own rusty, half-strangling version of a purr erupts from his throat. Marco sucks in a surprised breath and turns back around; after a moment, Jean feels him tilt his hips back, tentatively pushing himself into Jean’s hands, filling them, and Jean swears he can hardly breathe.

The movement has Jean’s thumbs sliding deep into the crease under Marco’s cheeks, and when he does, he feels dampness there, a slickness that isn’t normally there. It takes his fevered brain a moment to process what it is, but when it does, Jean makes a sound that’s half purr, half yelp, and moves his hands to gently, eagerly spread Marco’s cheeks apart.

The skin darkens as it falls away to Marco’s center, turning a dusky shade of pink, folding in on itself like layers of velvet. He’s wet, positively soaked, his hole dripping clear fluid down between his thighs and over Jean’s fingers, and Jean leans in and inhales. The fluid is imbued with Marco’s scent, filled with it, and it spreads through Jean’s mind, blotting out all else. He starts panting through his mouth, taking deep, huffing breathes, mesmerized by both the sight and the scent.

The sounds Jean is making must be exciting Marco, because he whines, low and needy, and pushes more insistently into Jean’s hands. A single drop of fluid, perfectly formed, drips from his hole, jostled loose by the motion, and without thinking, Jean leans in and laps it up.

He’s never done this before; Jean has been with a handful of Omegas, has sowed his share of wild oats like any self-respecting young Alpha, but he’s never had this urge before. Even when he’s been with women, he’s never wanted to get his face down between their legs and lick. But Marco’s taste is just as intoxicating as his scent, sweet and salt and floral and ice all together, and Jean buries his face between Marco’s cheeks, flattening his tongue out for long, broad licks.

“Jean!” Marco sounds shocked, the big muscles of his legs tensing, but as Jean keeps purring, keeps licking, he relaxes again, melting against Jean’s tongue. After a few moments, Marco starts to purr in chorus, and his ass is positively dripping, pouring fluid, faster than Jean can keep up with, and it spills down his face.

Marco starts shuffling forward, towards the mat on the floor, and Jean whines, unwilling to move, unwilling to stop. He moves across the floor on his knees, his hands shifting to grip Marco’s hips to keep him close, his tongue probing deep.

Marco laughs again, and puts his hands over Jean’s, gently pushing them away. Jean reluctantly looks up, pulling back from Marco’s ass, slick dripping off his chin and onto his chest.

Marco is smiling down at him, and his eyes are so warm, so welcoming, that they make Jean freeze in place, struck motionless and dumb by the sheer force of Marco’s affection. He holds still as Marco carefully turns around and bends forward, cupping Jean’s face in both of his hands. Marco bends and kisses Jean’s forehead before straightening back up. 

“Go rinse your mouth out and then come to bed.”

Jean blinks as Marco lets him go and steps away, then shakes himself all over before clambering to his feet. Marco is shedding his shirt, kicking off his pants, and Jean hurries to do the same, tearing at his clothes with numb fingers. Marco gets done before Jean does, and Jean catches him watching, his gaze filled with hunger, as Jean awkwardly finishes the job and straightens up.

They stand in front of each other, naked and wanting, and the room is filled with both their scents, mingling and combining, turning into something greater than either of them. Jean starts to move towards Marco, his arms lifting, his hands stretching forward, but Marco holds a hand out to stop him. Jean freezes, a whine starting in the back of his throat, and when Marco tosses something to him, he almost fumbles his catch and drops it.

It’s a little bottle of mouthwash, left behind by thoughtful organizers, and Jean gapes at it, then back up at Marco. Marco grins at him, cheeky and flirty, before turning and trotting towards the mat.

Jean watches his ass bounce up and down as he moves before turning to use the mouthwash and spit in the trashcan.

When he’s done and turns around to face the mat, Marco is already stretched out on it. In the dim light of the little room, Marco is etched with shadows, his chest and abdomen striped with alternating lines of dark and light. His face is in the light, and his eyes sparkle as he reaches for Jean, and Jean collapses gladly to his knees between Marco’s spread legs.   
Marco takes hold of Jean’s shoulders and pulls him down, and then they’re face to face, belly to belly, and Marco curls his legs around Jean’s waist.

Jean can feel the heat of Marco’s hole close to his cock, pulsing and wet, the most inviting thing he’s ever felt. He holds still for just a moment, savoring the anticipation, and Marco squirms underneath him, whining softly and pushing his hips forward, pressing the head of Jean’s cock inside himself. Jean gasps as he feels Marco part around him, and all his self-control vanishes. He plunges forward, sliding into Marco in one smooth movement, and Marco yelps a sound of pure joy.

Marco is hot and tight all around him, his body suctioning around Jean’s, pulling him deeper in a way that Jean has never experienced before; when he tries to draw his hips back, Marco whines and cinches his legs tighter around Jean’s waist, the muscles of his thighs pressing into Jean’s hips, and shoves his face into the side of Jean’s neck.

“Not yet,” he pants. “Not yet…”

Jean stops trying to pull back, and Marco scrubs his face along the side of Jean’s neck, across his scent gland. For the first time, Jean realizes that while he’s been busy huffing Marco’s scent, Marco has been doing the same to him, and he wonders what he smells like to him. He wonders if his scent is as addictive, as entrancing, as Marco’s is to him, and what kind of things Marco is smelling on him. Marco smells like spring, and Jean wonders if he, in turn, smells like autumn to Marco.

Marco tilts his head to the side, reaching up to gently position Jean’s head, and rubs their scent glands together, the soft spots under their jaws pressed together for the first time. “Now,” he whispers, and Jean can feel him swallow, can feel the muscles in his neck move against his own. “Now, _please_…”

Jean nods, shivering as their glands brush past each other again, and turns his head back around, sending Marco’s hands up and into his hair. He noses Marco’s gland once, then licks it, tasting Marco all the way to the back of his throat, before pulling his hips back and thrusting forward.

There are no words for how it feels, no language invented that can describe the sensations of Marco around him. Jean is left with the impression of colors, and shapes, hues no one has ever seen before, images yet undreamed. Everything around them fades away, bleeding into nonexistence. There is only Marco in his arms, Marco underneath him, Marco sheathing him and panting in his ear. Jean keeps his eyes closed, letting the colors bloom behind his eyelids, letting the world dance itself in and out of existence.

When Jean comes, it pulls at him in a way it never has before; it’s as though his very center is drawn tight and taut, and then erupts outward, pouring from him into Marco. Jean chokes, unable to breathe for a few fraught seconds, panic bubbling in his chest and throat. Then Marco’s lips are on his, soft and patient, and Jean inhales, drawing in air from Marco’s lungs, and it’s all right again. His knots slide forward, meeting no resistance from Marco’s body, and lock them together as Jean shudders through the last of his orgasm.

Marco starts kissing Jean’s cheeks, under his eyes, and it’s only then that Jean realizes his face is wet, that he’s been crying.

They don’t speak for awhile; Jean is perfectly content where he is, entwined with Marco, feeling the thunder of their heartbeats slow to a more normal pace, feeling sweat evaporate off his back. He’s never knotted anyone before, and has no idea how long they’ll be like this, but he doesn’t mind. Jean could stay knotted to Marco forever.

Once their breathing and pulses are back to normal, Jean lifts his head. Marco is smiling beatifically up at him, and Jean raises a hand to wipe some sweat-damp hair off Marco’s forehead.

“Traffic? Where were you driving from?”

Marco blinks, then laughs softly. “Jinae.”

“Jinae?” Not the answer Jean was expecting, and he gapes down at him. “They don’t have mating season centers in Jinae?”

“No, they do.” The faintest little blush rises on Marco’s cheeks, and Jean has to resist the temptation to lean down and kiss every single one of his freckles. “But when I got in the car this morning, I just had the urge to drive. There was… there was something I was looking for, and when I got to the freeway ramp, I turned north and just _went_.”

“All the way to Trost?” No wonder Marco was late; that’s a six hour drive, probably longer with all the traffic from mating season.

“No.” Marco smiles then, his teeth white in the darkness. “All the way to you.”

~*~

It takes time to find an unoccupied room, and by the time they do, Levi’s gut is tied into knots, and the taste of bile has risen in the back of his throat. He’s been following Erwin, letting him take the lead—it just makes sense, Erwin is larger and a bigger presence than Levi himself, and he can pause at a door, sniff once or twice, and know that it’s occupied—but that has just given Levi time to really observe him, to let the true breadth of his shoulders and his towering height sink in. Erwin is _huge_, and while Levi isn’t afraid of having a partner larger than himself—if he was, he’d have never lost his virginity in the first place—he’s never been with a Dynamic, let alone a Dynamic the size of Erwin. What if he was wrong? What if Erwin is lying, and he’s actually an Alpha and not an Omega? Levi knows he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference; all Dynamics smell the same to him, all have the same acrid reek. Erwin is the first one to actually smell _good_, but as far as Levi knows, that doesn’t mean shit.

Erwin stops in front of a door, and Levi, close at his heels, almost collides with his back. He gets another whiff of Erwin’s scent, and it calms him, just a little. He can do this. He’s taken everything else life has thrown at him and not died; he can handle a big Dynamic. He’s taken a few good-sized cocks in his day, and body size is no real indication of what Erwin is packing. It’ll be fine.

Erwin looks back over his shoulder at Levi, and his eyes are almost shining in the dim hallway. “This one is empty.”

“So open the door.” Levi says it with as much confidence as he can muster, and he’s glad when his voice doesn’t shake.

Erwin smiles at that, and holds the door open, letting Levi go in first.

The room is small, and poorly lit, like everything in this damn meat market. Erwin settles himself down on the mattress that’s been laid on the floor, crossing his legs neatly at the ankles, and watches as Levi prowls around, investigating all corners of the room. He finds a basket, stocked with bottles of water, lube, and fluffy, clean towels; he finds fresh sheets and curtains that block any light from outside. The room is clean enough, at least, even if it’s been very clearly laid out with one thing and one thing only in mind.

Levi turns back to Erwin, who looks up at him from his seated position. When he’s on the floor like that, he’s shorter than Levi, and his size suddenly doesn’t matter so much.

“So.” Levi scratches at the back of his neck. “Now what?”

Erwin blinks, his thick eyebrows lifting a little, and then chuckles softly. “Is this your first mating season?”

Levi levels the flattest look he can at him. “I’m a beta.”

“Ah.” Erwin has the grace to look ashamed of himself. “I keep forgetting. You don’t smell like one.”

“I don’t?” Levi is startled by this information; he’s never had anyone talk about his scent before, has never given anyone a reason to talk about it, and he takes a few steps closer to Erwin. “What do I smell like?”

That makes Erwin smile, and he tilts his head back, straightening his legs out so they stretch into Levi’s space. Without even thinking about it, Levi steps over one of his legs, straddling it, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Erwin doesn’t answer right away. He closes his eyes first, drawing in a long breath through his nose, holding it for a second or two, and then parting his lips and letting it out through his mouth. “You smell like freshly washed clothes on a clothesline, before they’re completely dry.” Another deep breath, drawn in and let out the same way. “You smell like the ice in a glass of water when it’s a hot day and you’ve been out in the sun.” A final breath, and Erwin opens his eyes after exhaling. “And you smell like an orange in the middle of winter, when you bite into it and it reminds you that spring is coming.”

Levi is touched in spite of himself. He hadn’t been expecting something so poetic, so well-spoken, and he shakes his head. “I smell like soap, water, and oranges.”

Erwin chuckles again. “I suppose.”

“What do you _do_ for a living?” No one who speaks like that can have an ordinary job.

“I teach literature at a high school.” A faint smile at the corner of Erwin’s lips. “I like to think that I could become a poet someday, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Levi has no answer for that, but Erwin doesn’t seem to expect one. He leans back, bracing his hands behind him on the mat, and tilts his head to one side. “What do I smell like? I’ve never thought to ask.”

A stark bolt of horror shoots through Levi’s chest. Fuck, what is he supposed to say? He can’t spew poetry the way Erwin just did! He isn’t good with words, he’s good for his hands, with things he can _do_, not with what he says!

“Uh…” Erwin is watching him, his eyes wide and expectant, and Levi swallows with a dry click. “You smell like… like sunshine.” He glances up, making sure Erwin isn’t laughing at his pathetic attempt, but Erwin’s expression has brightened, and he’s lifted his head. “Sunshine, and grass. Grass when it’s been just cut. And…”

“And?” Erwin sits up fully, lifting his hands towards Levi, and Levi steps into the circle of his arms, letting Erwin draw him close and resting his hands on Erwin’s shoulders.

“And trees. Those really big, tall trees that grow outside of town.”

“Cedar trees.”

“Yeah. Cedar… cedar trees.” Levi is losing himself in Erwin’s eyes again, hypnotized like a mouse before a snake or a cat, and he doesn’t care. He loops his arms around Erwin’s neck as Erwin’s arms tighten around his waist, and then they’re kissing, and for the first time he can remember, Levi is the one bending his neck down.

Erwin’s lips are soft and pliable under Levi’s, and even though Levi can feel the strength in the arms around his waist, the way the muscles bulge and tense, Erwin is letting Levi guide this. He lets Levi decide how hard, how deep, he wants the kiss to be, and that simple act makes Levi want him even more. Erwin’s mouth tastes like his scent, a lingering tease of cedar trees and sunshine, and it only takes a few moments before Levi is parting his lips and coaxing, _demanding_, that the kiss go deeper.

He’s never done much kissing before. Most of Levi’s sexual experience has been quick, semi-anonymous, poorly lit, and never repeated. This time is different. This time he wants _more_.

It’s Erwin who breaks the kiss, and he looks slightly dazed when he pulls away. “Would you, ah… would you like to lay down with me?”

Levi doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response; he simply puts his hands on Erwin’s shoulders and shoves backwards, collapsing with him onto the mat.

They collapse in a heap, and Levi grabs Erwin’s hair in both hands, mussing the perfectly coifed, silky strands, and tugs his head around into position. Then he’s diving down again, his tongue pushing past Erwin’s lips, chasing that scent and taste, infusing his senses with it.

Erwin rests his hands on the small of Levi’s back, holding him close, and the heat of his palms feels like it’s burning through Levi’s shirt. It’s distracting, keeping Levi from really enjoying the kiss, and after a few minutes of sweaty wiggling, he puts his hands on Erwin’s chest and pushes himself up.

“I’m taking my shirt off. You take yours off too.” Levi shifts backwards so he’s crouched over Erwin’s thighs, giving him room to sit up and deal with his own shirt, and starts fumbling his own buttons open.

Erwin sits up more slowly, bracing his hands behind himself again, and he watches Levi with rapt eyes, making no move to take off his own shirt. Levi makes short work of his buttons and tosses his shirt behind him—he’ll hang it up later, it’s already sweaty and smelly, no need to worry about it getting wrinkled—and glowers at Erwin.

“It’s still on.”

Erwin looks off to the side, his lips crimping at the corners, and Levi catches the faintest, tiniest change to his scent. To another Dynamic, Erwin would probably be blasting out what he’s feeling, probably has been for a few minutes now, but Levi has only just now gotten an inkling that something’s wrong.

“What?” Levi leans forward a little, his hands on Erwin’s hips, rocking towards him. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah…” One of Erwin’s hands flutters up to his throat, toying with his open collar. It catches on one of his fingers and pulls down a little, showing a tantalizing glimpse of blond fluff that Levi wants to bury his nose into. “It’s, ah… it’s been… a long time.”

For a moment, all Levi can do is boggle. _This_ guy? _This_ guy has been having trouble getting laid? _How_? How can someone so handsome, so cool and collected, have any difficulty at all snagging a mate, let alone a fuck buddy? Can’t they _smell_ him? Are they _blind_?

“Shitty ass losers.” It comes out before Levi can call it back, and Erwin’s head jerks up, his eyes going wide, before he looks down again and chuckles. There’s relief in that sound; even Levi can recognize it. 

“Thank you.” It’s so heartfelt and honest that it makes Levi’s stomach drop, and Erwin’s smile makes something tingle in his chest, something he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. But then Erwin’s hands move to his shirt buttons and start slowly undoing them, and Levi is distracted from any base emotions by the sight of what’s being revealed.

The fluff revealed by Erwin’s open collar was just a teaser of what else was coming, but that’s not what draws Levi’s attention. Nor is it how Erwin, while still being muscular and fit, is starting to soften at the edges, his gradual slide into middle age already beginning. His chest is still powerful and beautiful, covered in a fine layer of golden hair, but his abdomen has a hint of extra weight on it, a layer or two of gentle fat that probably hadn’t been there five years ago. On another man, Levi would see that extra weight as a sigh of weakness, a slipping of control, but Erwin carries it with a dignity he’s never seen before.

It’s the scars on Erwin’s chest and belly that really catch Levi’s attention: they’re faint and faded to silver, moving across his skin like water, rippling and waving their way downward. At first, he doesn’t recognize them, and frowns, ducking his head down closer, wanting a better look. Erwin goes still and lets him, his hands pausing just above his navel, and Levi squints at the scars, noticing how they run parallel to each other, how close together they are, and how they are nothing like the scars he’s seen before, the kind left behind by knives or beatings. These are something completely different.

Then it dawns on it, and Levi sits back, his eyes widening. “You carried him. Your son.”

“Yes.” Erwin drops his hands to his lap, his last few buttons still undone, his shoulders hunching forward, drawing in on himself and making himself small. “I’m an Omega.”

“I know, but…” _But you don’t look or act like an Omega_, but what does Levi know about Dynamics? He knows that anyone can get pregnant, of course—has spent most of his adult life avoiding that exact predicament, either for himself or his partners—but he hadn’t imagined that Erwin would have been the one to carry his son. He just doesn’t look the type, not at all, not what Levi had expected in any way.

Erwin’s scent has changed, gone sour and tart, and he keeps his shoulders closed around his chest, protective and shut away. “We can stop. If you’re no longer interested.”

“What? No!” The words come bursting forward, making Erwin look up sharply and Levi want to bite his tongue. 

“You don’t mind?” Erwin’s voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a hint of longing there, a hint of something eagerly sought after and lost, again and again, and Levi would be lying if he said he didn’t understand that feeling.

“I… no.” Levi shakes his head, his bangs falling forward and into his eyes with the movement. He leaves them there, his gaze fixed on Erwin’s chest, watching it slowly rise and fall with his breath. “It’s fine.”

Then Erwin reaches for him, his hands shaking the tiniest bit before they make contact, and Levi lets himself be drawn in, crushed against Erwin’s chest, and Erwin’s lips are on his, needy and desperate, and Levi can feel Erwin’s heartbeat pounding against his own.

The hair on Erwin’s chest is just as soft as it looks, and his scars don’t feel any different than the rest of his skin. No different at all.

It’s much less of an ordeal to get Erwin out of the rest of his clothes, and they fall next to Levi’s on the floor beside the cot. The scars extend down onto his thighs, but Levi is distracted once again.

“You’re fucking _huge_.”

Erwin chuckles ruefully, and doesn’t resist or protest when Levi pushes him down on his back and then crouches between his legs; he’s even agreeably spreading his knees before Levi can put his hands on them and push them apart.

Levi doesn’t know much about Dynamics, but he’s pretty sure that Omegas aren’t supposed to be hung like _that_. Erwin’s cock is gigantic, laying thick and swollen across his abdomen, and there’s no way that’s fitting in Levi’s ass without a fight. It’s just not physically possible.

Everything about Erwin is big; his balls are heavy and covered with blond fuzz, round and full and massive, and Levi wonders how he manages to fit them in his pants and walk around all day. He also wonders how much come are inside them, and the thought makes his throat go dry and his pulse pick up.

Erwin is laying passively back, watching Levi inspect him, and when Levi looks back up, Erwin is smiling at him, that sweet, kind smile that Levi already finds himself wanting. Levi swallows around his dry throat, then clears it. “We’re going to need a lot of lube.”

Erwin’s brow furrows. “What? Why?”

“Because…” Levi gestures at Erwin’s cock. “Because I’m not slamming that thing without a shitload of help.”

A split second of silence, and then Erwin bursts out laughing. For a moment, Levi is offended, offended to the extent that he actively considers getting up, getting dressed, and walking out. But then Erwin reaches for him, still smiling, and Levi’s chest does that weird little jog again, and he flops down across Erwin’s chest. He does make sure he lands to the side though, so he doesn’t crush that glorious cock and balls.

“Levi…” Erwin’s hands are in Levi’s hair, smoothing it back, caressing his scalp, and Levi suddenly doesn’t care if he can’t walk right for a week; if it lets him stay here with Erwin, he’ll take that porn star cock and not breathe a word of complaint. “You know I’m an Omega, right?”

Levi frowns; this isn’t the direction he thought this would be going. “Yeah. You told me. Three times.”

_At least_ three times.

Erwin nods, smiling as he stretches up to run his lips along the column of Levi’s throat. “And it’s mating season.”

“Uh huh.” That’s why they’re here, after all.

“As much as I’d like to, ah, slam you, that’s not what I need right now.”

Levi pushes back, propping himself up on Erwin’s chest. “You want _me_… to _you_?”

“_Please_.” Erwin licks his lips—his plush, kissable lips—and looks so damn thirsty that Levi almost starts laughing. “Please, Levi, I… I need it. I need _you_.”

“You’re going to have to hold your balls out of the way.” It’s all Levi can think to say.

It just makes Erwin smile, and stretch up for a kiss. “I can do that.”

~*~

It takes forever to find an empty room, let alone one big enough for the three of them, and by the time they’ve climbed four flights of stairs and prowled about twenty corridors, Porco is twitching with frenetic energy, his skin practically crawling along his muscles. Reiner had insisted on leading them, Bertolt’s hand clenched firmly in one of his own, and while Porco hadn’t minded at first, following Bertolt’s wafting scent for so long had become maddening by the second floor, and pure torture by the fourth. Bertolt keeps glancing over his shoulder, like he knows the effect he’s having on Porco, and every time he sees those stupidly huge green eyes, Porco gets a jolt up his spine, like someone has applied electricity directly to his tailbone. 

It doesn’t help that every time Reiner catches them making eye contact, he tugs Bertolt closer, puts an arm protectively around him and keeps it there until Bertolt politely shrugs him off so they can walk normally. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so blatantly possessive, and Porco has to fight to keep from curling his upper lip and growling at Reiner. It’s not _his_ fault Reiner is a beta and can’t get the job done!

When they finally—_finally_—find a room, Porco is in no mood to waste time. He starts stripping his shirt off as he shoves past Reiner into the room, and it gives him great satisfaction to hear a little intake of breath from one of them as he does. Porco spends enough time in the gym that they _better_ goddamn appreciate him! He’s the shortest of the three of them, but he’s still the Alpha, and they better be appropriately impressed.

He turns around, his shirt held in his hands and his chest bare, and Bertolt is definitely looking, his eyes bright with interest. Reiner is looking too, but when he sees that Porco has noticed, he rolls his eyes at him.

Porco grins at that, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other into what Marcel calls Porco’s shit-eating smug shit smile. “I can’t get anyone knocked up through a pair of jeans.”

Reiner groans and shakes his head even as Bertolt’s hands drop to his belt buckle.

“Uh…” Bertolt fumbles with his belt, his eyes down and the tips of his ears turned red. “How do you want to… to do this?”

Porco can think of a number of ways, but he shrugs with one shoulder as he tosses his shirt onto a chair in the room’s corner. “What did you two have in mind?”

Because there’s no way that Reiner didn’t plan all this out ahead of time.

“I can hold him on my lap,” Reiner volunteers immediately, and Porco coughs to hide his laughter. “And then you can get behind him.”

Porco nods, moving his hands to his belt. “Works for me.”

Reiner insists on getting naked too, just like Porco knew he would, and he has to admit, for a beta, Reiner’s in really good shape. If he didn’t have that underlying benign, inoffensive scent to him, a smell Porco can only describe as _beige_ underneath all the smoke and metal, he could easily pass for an Alpha. He’s pale all over, his skin almost glowing in the room’s dim light, and the chair he settles into after knocking Porco’s shirt to the floor creaks under his weight.

Bertolt isn’t as heavily muscular as his mate, but he’s lean and toned, a swimmer’s body compared to Reiner’s weightlifter, his skin dusky against Reiner’s paleness. Bertolt is almost shy once he’s naked, and when Reiner lifts his arms to tempt him into his lap, Bertolt goes immediately, straddling Reiner’s thighs and putting his arms around his neck. He doesn’t move _quite_ fast enough, though.

“You’re hung like an Alpha.” Porco approves; nothing wrong with appreciating a great dick, he figures, even if it is on an Omega. 

Bertolt groans and ducks his head into the side of Reiner’s neck. “I know.”

“What? It’s an amazing cock!” One Porco wouldn’t mind getting another look at, but now Bertolt is pressed flush against Reiner, and it’s hidden between them.

Porco can see Reiner smirking over Bertolt’s shoulder, and he steps closer, his own cock fully erect and aching. Reiner’s hadn’t been anything to sneeze at either, and for a split second, Porco is self-conscious about his own size, a new feeling he hadn’t been expecting. He quickly consoles himself with the knowledge that his dick is the only one here with knots at its base, and that he’s the only one who can come like an Alpha.

“It _is_ an amazing cock,” Reiner announces, and kisses the side of Bertolt’s head when he groans again, the sound muffled by Reiner’s neck.

“Yeah?” Porco moves up behind them, dropping his hands lightly to Bertolt’s hips. Bertolt might be a tall, lean drink of water, but he’s got a plush, round little Omega ass, and Porco has every intention of putting his hands all over it. “You’re telling me you take that monster?”

“Damn straight I do.” Reiner is undeniably smug, and Porco is impressed in spite of himself.

“Kinky.”

Reiner barks laughter at that, making Porco lift his eyes from Bertolt’s ass in surprise. “You think that just because he’s an Omega he takes it every time?”

Bertolt whines in protest at this line of discussion, but Porco has no idea how to respond. He _had_ thought that; that’s just how things work, Alphas pitch and Omegas catch and betas do whatever their partner needs them to do. That’s the nature of things.

“You’ve never bottomed, have you?” Reiner’s tone is pleasant enough, but there’s definitely a challenge to his words, a challenge that makes Porco bristle along the back of his neck.

“Of course not! I’m an _Alpha_.”

“You’re missing out.” Reiner has a shit-eating smile of his own now, and Porco has to wonder where a beta gets confidence like this.

Before Porco can respond, Bertolt whines and squirms in Reiner’s lap, lifting his head so his voice is clear and plaintive. “Do you two want to one-up each other all night or is someone going to actually _do_ me?” 

Reiner chuckles and turns his head back to Bertolt, murmuring soft words into his ear and kissing along his hairline, and for just a moment, a surge of jealousy sparks through Porco’s chest. It’s nonsense, he’s not looking for a mate, certainly not a mate who already _has_ a mate—Bertolt is hot and everything, but Porco isn’t invested enough to fight Reiner for him—but that closeness is something he recognizes from Marcel and his mate, and it’s something that maybe, deep down, he wants for himself.

Maybe. Just maybe.

But right now, he wants that ass, and with Reiner keeping Bertolt occupied, Porco is free to grope and squeeze as much as he likes. He’s always liked Omega asses, with just that little extra bit of heft to them on even the fittest person, and Bertolt’s flesh is soft and pliable under his hands. He gets his hands on either side of Bertolt’s cheeks, enjoying the slight squish and resistance against his fingers, and gently pushes them apart.

Bertolt’s dark skin fades away to a bright, inviting pink—Omega Pink—his hole wet and tempting, the waft of Omega scent nearly overpowering. Porco has to fight the urge to shove his face between Bertolt’s cheeks and try to lap that scent directly into his mouth. He refrains, because he imagines Reiner would have some choice words to say if he did that, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning in and inhaling deeply, letting Bertolt’s scent fill his sinuses and cloud his vision.

Bertolt whines softly and shifts, pushing his hips back towards Porco, and when he does, a pearly, viscous droplet escapes from him, sliding down along the curve of his asscheek. Porco draws up short, the sudden intrusion of Reiner’s scent like a slap to the face, and straightens up so he can see Reiner again.

“You two already fucked today!”

Reiner had had his face pressed against Bertolt’s ear, whispering something to him, but he turns now to face Porco, and his jaw is tight, his eyes steely. He drops his hand from Bertolt’s dark hair and clamps it down on the back of his neck, over his mate scars, a pointed gesture. “Yes. I had sex _with my mate_, during _mating season_. Is that a problem for you?”

Porco goes still, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he stares at Reiner. Is it a problem? Yeah, kind of! No Alpha likes to get someone else’s sloppy seconds, especially not sloppy seconds from a _beta_. But is this really the same thing? Reiner and Bertolt are mated to each other, not Porco; he’s just here to provide a service, to impregnate where Reiner has clearly failed. Can he really blame Reiner for trying? This is the season when it would be most likely to stick, after all.

Still, at any other time, this would be worth starting a fight over, and for a moment, Porco teeters on the edge of showing aggression anyway. All it would take would be a curled lip, he knows, and Reiner would likely throw Bertolt off his lap and attack. While fights are fun, fucking is _more_ fun, and, if he’s being completely honest with himself, Porco isn’t sure he could take Reiner in a fight. Not when he’s all riled up and defending his mate’s honor.

Porco relaxes, smiling instead of snarling, and steps forward, letting his dick slot in-between Bertolt’s asscheeks. Bertolt whines again and pushes his hips back, and Porco is only too happy to rock his hips forward, letting himself drag against Bertolt’s skin, the friction delicious. “Not a problem for me. It might be a problem for _you_, later.”

Reiner glares for another moment, then his defensive posture drops too, although he keeps his protective grip on the back of Bertolt’s neck. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you know what they say about Alphas.” Porco pulls back, letting his cock slide down Bertolt’s crack until he can feel the wet of his hole, and pauses there, waiting. Bertolt makes a quiet little keening noise, his scent gone needy and desperate, but Porco waits.

Reiner lasts longer than Porco thought he would; maybe it’s because he can’t smell Bertolt’s need as well as a Dynamic could. But he breaks eventually, just like Porco knew he would. “What?”

“What what?”

Reiner grits his teeth. “What do they say about Alphas?”

Porco grins, all teeth and Alpha flash, and grips Bertolt’s hips with both hands, getting himself in position. “That once you’ve had your guts filled by one, there’s no going back.”

And without any further teasing, he pushes his hips forward, parting Bertolt in one smooth thrust.

Bertolt jolts in Reiner’s arms and lets loose with a full-throated cry, one that reverberates in Porco’s head and knocks around inside his skull. It’s always like this with Omegas, that first thrust almost being enough to make him lose his shit, and he presses himself against Bertolt’s back, his cheek on Bertolt’s shoulder, fighting to not come immediately. He can hear Reiner saying something, talking to Bertolt, but it just sounds like buzzing in his ears. That _grip_, that _friction_, that way Omegas press down in all the right places and practically drag the knots in on their own… it’s amazing. Every time, it’s amazing, and Porco can understand why some Alphas go so wild about finding an Omega of their own.

That’s not him, though. Not now, not ever. Not even for an ass as sweet as Bertolt’s.

Once he’s sure he’s not going to blow right here and now, Porco picks his head up and leans in, sniffing at Bertolt’s scent glands. There’s no scent of pain, no distress, just wanton need and desire, and Porco straightens up the rest of the way, carefully resetting himself.

Reiner is looking sour over Bertolt’s shoulder, though his hands on Bertolt’s neck and shoulder are still gentle. He must be getting mashed backwards with Bertolt and Porco’s combined weight, but he isn’t complaining, and Porco has to give him credit for that. “Well? Are you going to deliver on that, or is your mouth writing checks your dick can’t cash?”

That should make him angry, but Porco is feeling too fine and too giddy to complain, and he just laughs instead. “Wait and see, buddy… wait and see.”

Reiner grunts and rolls his eyes, but Porco is undeterred. He starts thrusting, long and teasing, and Bertolt sighs against Reiner’s chest, his scent blooming open in contentment.

Reiner sighs too, and Porco glances up, meeting his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” But it’s clearly something; a slow, sharp grin is starting to spread across Reiner’s face.

“_What_?” Porco doesn’t like that look.

“Oh, just thinking.”

“About _what_?” This guy… this fucking guy.

“About how you’ve never bottomed.” Reiner is full on grinning now, showing all his teeth, and Porco doesn’t like where this is going.

“I told you…” Porco has to pause, a shudder running through him as Bertolt grips him _just right_, “I told you, I’m an Alpha.”

“You not up for trying new things, _Alpha_?” Reiner’s tone is playful, taunting, but Porco can hear the real challenge in it. “You scared you can’t handle a little old beta dick?”

Damn it. _Damn it!_ Porco glowers over Bertolt’s shoulder, wanting to wipe that grin right off Reiner’s face. He’s never taken a dick before, so even a beta dick sounds pretty intimidating, but he’s also never been one to back away from a challenge. Especially not from someone as obnoxious as Reiner.

“You think you can make me scream the way I’m going to make your mate scream?” Porco punctuates the question with a particularly strong roll of his hips, and Bertolt yelps, high and pleased and satisfied.

Reiner nudges his nose against the side of Bertolt’s neck, against his scent gland, and looks past Bertolt’s cheekbone to smirk at Porco. “Challenge accepted.”

“Challenge.” Another roll of his hips, another yelp from Bertolt, and Porco shudders, feeling his knots draw down, getting ready to latch into Bertolt’s body. “Accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my little foray into raunch and way too many narrators. So, so many narrators...
> 
> Validating comments and praise is always welcome.


End file.
